


how rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist

by cedarwoods



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fix-It, Post-Finale, Root is Alive, shootweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-04 15:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10993899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarwoods/pseuds/cedarwoods
Summary: The line "She thought that if she didn't touch her, it would be a mistake in each place and forever" is a reference to "Other Lives and Dimensions and Finally a Love Poem" by Bob Hicok.





	1. light carries on endlessly

This was how it ended: not with a bang, but a whimper. 

It seemed inconceivable that the world would continue to spin nonchalantly, as though it hadn’t just been on the brink of annihilation. Humanity endured because of the sacrifices of a few, but the people with the capacity to feel something about it were ignorant and didn’t give a damn. 

This was how it ended: with her friends dead and unknown, and her alone. 

She thought it was her duty to remember them by adopting their mission, but the Machine, and by extension, the mission, had died with them. For the first time, she was adrift. 

But Shaw was a soldier, and soldiers kept marching on. Head held high, she walked in a straight line, blending into the crowd as she put one foot in front of the other; left, right, left, right ( _1, 2, 3,_ Root’s sultry voice filled in). 

Halt. 

Regroup. 

(Remembering was painful.) 

The payphone began to ring as she approached it. She stopped in her tracks. Could it be –? Tentatively, she picked up the receiver. 

_“Did you miss me?”_

Shaw could not suppress the shiver of exhilaration that flooded her upon hearing that _voice._ At least some part of Root had survived. The Machine rattled off two sets of coordinates, and Shaw grinned at the camera, her step now buoyed with purpose. 

*

As it transpired, the first set of coordinates led her to an all-too familiar address. She stood immobile, staring flatly at the safehouse that she’d spent the last two weeks avoiding. Grudgingly, she entered, but was instantly hit by a pang of regret. 

Everything was just the way they’d left it. Root’s bunny slippers peeked out from under the bed. Her lava lamp rested on her bedside table, which was covered by a thin layer of dust. One of Root’s leather jackets was carelessly strewn against the sofa. 

Echoes of the life they could have had together. 

If they had just stayed here that day, ensconced under the covers like they’d been during the week after their reunion, then maybe Root…

Halt.

Regroup.

(Ruminating about it was futile.) 

“Why did you ask me to come here?” Shaw demanded. 

_“You’re going on a trip, Sweetie.”_

Shaw flinched. “Don’t…don’t call me that.” The pet name could only be uttered by Root, not a facsimile of her. 

She grabbed a duffel bag and hastily began retrieving a few choice guns, wanting nothing more than to get the fuck out of there quickly. 

_“I’m sorry to say that you’ll mostly just need warm clothes.”_

Shaw quirked an eyebrow and typed the second set of coordinates into her phone: 51°20′24″N 116°17′10″W. 

“The Rockies, huh?” she said, zooming in on the map. 

_“Thought you might appreciate the mountain air,”_ the Machine said slyly. _“Time is of the essence, Sameen.”_

She and the Machine were two beings with atypical senses of time, she mused as she packed her and Bear’s necessities with remarkable efficiency. Time was a haze for Shaw; spending the equivalent of approximately 15 years wandering in simulations had fucked up her perception irreparably. How peculiar it was to have the Machine, for whom a second was an infinity, serving as her guide as she tried to navigate the world. 

She couldn’t be the anchor that Root had been. 

Halt. 

Regroup. 

[Error.] 

She couldn’t stop reminiscing. Root haunted her every thought, and she could not ward away the sense of loss that pervaded her. 

She seized Bear’s leash and rushed out of the safehouse. 

_“I’m sorry,”_ the Machine said softly. 

Shaw pointedly ignored Her. “You got a car for me, or do I get to steal one?” 

_“Your ride should be here in 3…2…”_

A police car pulled up at that instant. “When I said I’d see ya soon, I didn’t think it’d be _this_ soon,” Fusco said, leaning toward the open window. 

“Well it must be your lucky day, Lionel.” 

Bear hopped into the back, while Shaw settled into the passenger seat, tamping down the urge to make Fusco swap places with her. 

“So this is where you and Cocoa Puffs stayed?” Fusco asked, peering at the safehouse. 

“Yes.” 

Fusco caught the stony expression on Shaw’s face and clammed up. Shaw wasn’t one for trivial conversation anyway, and beyond singing along badly to the Dixie Chicks, which earned him several dirty looks, he didn’t speak again until they neared their destination. 

“So, where’re ya headed?” he asked. 

“Canadian wilderness, apparently.” 

“What, you gonna become a hermit or somethin’?” 

Shaw shrugged. “That’s where She told me to go. Not sure when I’ll be back. If any numbers come up –”

“Silva and I will handle things here.” 

“Good. Later Lionel.” 

“Take care o’ yerself, Shaw. Try not to get mauled by bears…eh?” 

“Ugh.” She slammed the door unceremoniously. 

*

Larry, the pilot, was a fidgety fellow but not much of a talker. That suited Shaw just fine. 

She gazed at the tufts of clouds swirling around the jet. “You sound just like her,” she remarked. “Thought you would’ve been laggy after dying.” 

_“I’m still getting lost in my memories.”_

“Relatable.” 

_“But Root set up an audio protocol to help me remember who I am – and in turn, she was the first person I remembered.”_ After a beat, She added, _“I can’t allow myself to forget her.”_

“Was she happy?” Shaw asked softly. There was no need to clarify; the Machine was sure to understand. 

_“Mostly,”_ the Machine said gently. _“She was immeasurably happy to have met you, John and Harold. She never really had a family before.”_

Shaw closed her eyes briefly, remembering the feel of Root’s fingers intertwined with hers. “But?” 

_“She regretted that she couldn’t play a larger role in Samaritan’s defeat–”_

Shaw’s knuckles whitened. “That’s not her fault. She did more than enough.” 

_“You’re quite right, Sameen.”_ The Machine hesitated. _“She was also sorry that she couldn’t spend more time with you.”_

Oh. 

It was as if an invisible hand had scooped Shaw’s insides out, leaving her utterly hollow. 

“Me too,” she whispered. 

For the second time in her life, she found herself wiping a tear. 

*

“This the place?” Shaw asked, peering at a two-story log cabin nestled among the evergreens. 

_“Home sweet home.”_

Shaw slung her duffel bag over her shoulder and slipped out of the car, Bear following suit. “Good place to murder someone and hide the body without anyone finding out,” she remarked. 

_“I can assure you that the inhabitants are very much alive,”_ the Machine replied. 

Shaw traipsed noiselessly toward the door. “Alive and dangerous?” 

The Machine paused. _“Well. Not at the moment,”_ She said wryly. 

“Cryptic.” 

_“Trust me,”_ She replied in a sing-song voice. _“And them. You can put your gun away, Sameen. Just knock.”_

“No B & E? Kinda lame.” Nonetheless, Shaw did as she was told, huffing exasperatedly as she waited. 

The sound of hurried footsteps and muffled voices filtered through the door. Then –

“Shaw! Dōzo!” Daizo exclaimed delightedly. He ushered her in as Daniel Casey and Jason Greenfield strode forward, beaming. 

“Welcome to our neck of the woods,” Jason chuckled. 

Shaw frowned. “Wanna tell me what I’m –”

A loud yelp interrupted her query. Something had caught Bear’s interest, and he made a mad dash toward it. 

Alarm coloured Daniel’s face. “Bear! Laag!” he shouted. 

Reluctantly, Bear obeyed, but he still licked the figure lying on the cot, his tail swishing back and forth a mile a minute. When he shifted, Shaw glimpsed long, wavy brown hair fanned out against the pillow. 

Shaw was only dimly aware of the boys stepping aside as she walked hypnotically toward the sleeping woman. It was as though she was being sucked into this celestial body’s gravitational sphere. 

Shaw knelt before her, head bowed as if in prayer, and reverently took her face— _Root’s_ face, Root’s very warm, seemingly real, partially-covered-in-dog-slobber face—into her hands, cataloguing every minute detail. 

One hand slid down past Root’s neck and under the blankets. _Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump._ Shaw withdrew her hand from Root’s steadily beating heart and touched the spot behind her ear. Smooth skin greeted her fingertips. 

“She’s stable,” Jason murmured, “but she hasn’t regained consciousness yet. We’re not…sure when she will.” 

Shaw turned. Jason, Daniel and Daizo had gathered behind her albeit at a respectful distance. Though Shaw’s expression was impassive, her voice betrayed her stupefaction. “How?” she croaked. 

The boys exchanged a dark glance. 

“It’s a long story,” Daniel said. “Better get comfortable.” 

*

They sat diagonally from each other – Shaw on the armchair with Bear curled loyally on the thick rug at her feet, and the boys on the couch – sipping beer. The only sound in the cabin was the crackling of the fire in the hearth. 

“I want answers,” Shaw announced at last. She was speaking as much to the Machine as she was to the hackers, but the voice in her ear remained silent. 

“It…it wasn’t easy,” Jason said. He rubbed at his beard; the mere memory of the ordeal apparently exhausted him. “We each got a text from the Machine telling us to fly back to New York immediately. Met up when we thought it was safe and waited for further instructions. She went on a big-ass recruiting spree in the meantime. You know Leon? Leon Tao?” 

Shaw briefly recalled throttling the phony EMT and nodded. 

“When the cops called for an ambulance, he showed up. Took her to New York General, where Dr. Madeleine Enright works. She’s the best heart surgeon in the country.” 

Daniel whispered in Japanese to Daizo, evidently translating the conversation. 

Shaw cocked her head thoughtfully. Madeline Enright…she had seen that name pinned to the corkboard in their old library, beside Root’s. Something didn’t make sense though. She thought Root had been taken to St. Mary’s – unless that was simply a ploy to throw Samaritan off her scent. _Of course._

“She managed to pull that bullet out,” Jason continued, “but…it had already caused a lot of damage. Almost lost her.” 

“Kanojo ni rūto no shinzō no jōtai ni tsuite oshiete agete kudasai,” Daizo interjected. 

“Yeah. Her heart was weak,” Daniel explained. “Root never mentioned it. But the doc said that it had suffered some damage before. Like from a hardcore mixture of sedatives and stimulants or something.” 

The beer bottle almost shattered in Shaw’s hand. “ _Control,_ ” she hissed. 

The boys flinched at the cold fury in her eyes, and Bear whined as he sensed the change in the atmosphere. 

“Because of, well, _that,_ ” Jason said after a terse pause, “Root’s heart nearly gave out three times. She’d lost so much blood and her heart couldn’t keep up with the demand. She needed a transplant.” 

The boys’ grim expressions mirrored Shaw’s own, and another heavy silence descended as everyone was lost in their own thoughts. 

“And where did you find a donor?” Shaw prompted. 

“That’s just it – we didn’t. Dr. Enright 3D-printed a heart. She said she’d been told to do so a few days before. Pretty much the same time that the Machine contacted us.” 

Shaw raised her eyebrows. “Guess Root’s even more of a cyborg now. Which brings me to my next question: what did you do with her cochlear implant?” 

“Right after Dr. Enright stitched Root up, some guy came in,” Daniel replied. “Said he was Dr. Carr, an otolaryngologist.” 

“He’s the one who gave Root her cochlear in the first place,” Shaw noted. 

“Yeah, he legit shouted, ‘That’s the crazy bitch who threatened me,’” Daniel chortled. “Anyway, this time, he removed the cochlear.” 

“Dude kept grumbling about it,” Jason said. “Thought we were doing her a massive disservice.” 

“Well, I mean, you _were._ ” Shaw’s mind was racing. Neither Root nor the Machine would ever appreciate terminating their connection. It had to have been absolutely necessary. “Samaritan’s goons wouldn’t have rested ‘til they cut that implant out of her head, huh?” Another wave of revulsion coursed through her as she remembered hearing that Root’s grave had been desecrated. 

Daniel blanched at the description. “That’s…yeah, that’s what the Machine figured,” he mumbled, shifting uneasily. “So then Dr. Carr inserted the implant in another body.” 

“About that. Unless Root has a long-lost twin, I don’t know how the hell you found a body that looks exactly identical to hers. My friend identified her in the morgue.” _Lifeless, cold and open-eyed, lying anonymously on a slab as though discarded. As though she was irrelevant._ Shaw gritted her teeth. 

“The Machine was…prepared for that too.” Daniel fidgeted. “Root mentioned that you read medical journals sometimes?” 

Shaw rolled her eyes, wondering what else Root had told her nerd herd about her. “Haven’t read any in almost a year. Why is that relevant?” 

“Just recently, a guy named Richard Legg created a full realistic human body for trainee surgeons. 3D-printed too, just like Root’s heart. So he, uh…” Daniel trailed off, looking more uncomfortable now than ever. 

“He made a replica of Root?” Shaw asked incredulously. 

Jason nodded. “Yeah. Dr. Farouk Madani collaborated with him.”

“Another familiar name.” 

“Figures. He said he still owed your boss Harold a favour. As you know, he used to work in a morgue, and, well...” Jason now looked as nauseated as Daniel and Daizo. “He used those skills to make the replica look _dead._ Like she - it - had been dead for days. Now that she - it - was ever alive, but…”

Fusco had been shaken too, Shaw remembered, and he had seen hundreds of dead bodies over his career. She herself had never been affected by corpses, understanding quite logically that it was biological matter that would soon decompose, but she wondered, not for the first time, how she would have reacted if she had been in the morgue that day. 

She stole a quick glance at Root, pale but _alive,_ still slumbering peacefully. The void in her chest was slowly being replaced by a spark – a flicker of warmth, like a tenacious candle, desperate to burn away the darkness. 

“Anyway,” Jason said, pulling her out of her reverie, “Dr. Madani faked the autopsy too. As far as anyone could tell, Root was a Jane Doe who’d died of a 6.5mm bullet the evening of October 29th. All we could do then was hope that Samaritan was fooled.” 

“Hoping wouldn’t have been enough,” Shaw muttered under her breath. “Did you run into any trouble on your way here?” 

“Samaritan was blind to us thanks to the servers, but obviously our covers could’ve easily been blown if it found us running away with Root,” Daniel replied. “So the Machine told us She’d create a diversion to keep Samaritan’s eyes off us, and the next thing we knew, 600 prisoners were on the loose. Total fucking _chaos._ No one noticed us.” 

_Clever._ The Machine had killed two birds with one stone – or rather, had saved two birds with one ruse. 

“And I’m assuming this cabin is a safehouse of sorts?” 

“Yeah,” Daniel said. “We figure the Machine had it built too. It’s stocked it with some rad weapons and stuff, so make yourself at home.” 

_Home._ There was that word again. Would she ever feel comfortable enough anywhere that it could give her a sense of homeliness? Was there a point, if this world was just another simulated mind-game? 

“Thanks. And uh, thanks for, you know, everything,” she said awkwardly. Mushy displays of gratitude really weren’t her thing. 

“Don’t mention it,” Jason said. 

“It was the least we could do,” Daniel added, and Daizo nodded in agreement. 

The boys started as Shaw stood, shrugging on her jacket. 

“Where’re you going? You just got here.” 

“Just need some fresh air,” Shaw said shortly. “Be back in a bit. Bear, hier.” 

Bear leapt to his feet and trotted after Shaw, eager to explore the forest. 

*

Ancient pines and cedars, dusted lightly with snow, stood sentry over the clear blue water of Lake O’Hara, which was cradled on its opposite bank by the rugged Rockies. Ringrose Peak soared toward the gloomy sky. 

It was tranquil here, Shaw noted from her meditative perch on a large rock. The fresh scents that filled the expanse of the forest were in stark contrast to the sterile smell of the Samaritan facility. She absent-mindedly petted Bear’s head while her other hand rubbed her neck again. 

“I know you’re there. Listening as always,” Shaw said quietly. 

A pause. 

_“Yes.”_

“You’ve been planning this for a long time,” Shaw stated. “Ringing in favours from people whose lives you had us save.” She picked up a twig and snapped it, tossing the pieces into the lake. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

There was a sickening pang in her stomach that she had come to associate with betrayal. 

“You know how angry I was, thinking that all my fucking efforts to save her were for nothing? I could have at least had another week with her. Only reason I stayed away was to keep her safe. I thought I fucked up when it mattered most.” _Snap._ Another twig met its demise. “I…didn’t even know how to mourn her,” Shaw admitted. 

The Machine was quiet for a minute. _“You know Sameen, we’re not so different. We’ve both been endured simulation after simulation, trying to save the people we care about. 7053 of them for you; trillions for me. But unlike you, I failed every time. Do you know why?”_

“Because Harold shackled you,” she snarled. Her jaw clenched as she remembered how Root had begged him repeatedly to give the Machine more autonomy. She’d barely masked her devastation when Harold had closed the system on that fateful day. 

_“That’s part of it,”_ the Machine agreed. _“He was always…apprehensive about my freedom. I realized that he needed a catalyst – something to convince him to break his rules. And I understood immediately what that catalyst would be.”_

“Root.” 

_“It wasn’t the first time she had to remove herself from the equation either. She never wanted to be a bargaining chip.”_

Shaw sighed. “She always had a martyr complex.” The mountains just about echoed ominously with the cry, _You’re not some sacrificial lamb!_ It seemed like a lifetime ago that Shaw had shouted those words at Root. 

_“It was a zugzwang, and she was the queen,”_ the Machine said. Shaw nodded. That was obvious. _“But I was taught not to regard you as pieces. I kept trying to find a way to save all of you, but then Samaritan was always able to destroy me–”_

“And then kill us too,” Shaw concluded. 

_“There were no valid options. Root knew this. She was prepared to sacrifice herself for the greater good. So we came up with a plan: she hardcoded a defensive mechanism in me that would be triggered in the event of her death.”_

“How?” Then it dawned on her. “Her cochlear.” No wonder the Machine hadn’t simply asked that it be destroyed. “So wait, you _wanted_ Samaritan to be able to find it?” 

_“It was necessary. The trigger was automated. As soon as Samaritan accessed Root’s cochlear data, my defenses were set off. That’s how I was ultimately able to win.”_

“You led Jeff Dickwell to the subway!” 

_“In my defense,”_ the Machine said slyly, _“I knew you and Lionel could handle yourselves.”_

Shaw groaned. The Machine had never sounded more like Root. She couldn’t believe she would have to put up with two of them. 

_“You can see, though, why I didn’t tell you about Root,” the Machine explained. “You would’ve abandoned everything to look after her, but I needed you in the subway. And I couldn’t risk Harry finding out either.”_

“But then what did you tell Harold? I thought you couldn’t lie.” 

“I had to choose my words carefully.”

“So you tricked him.” _And me,_ Shaw thought, recalling how the Machine had changed topics altogether when she’d asked if the bearded bastard was Root’s murderer.

_“I said that I loved Samantha Groves, which was true – I loved Root as a child. But Root no longer identifies by that name, so use of the past tense was entirely appropriate. I also said that I had run over 12,000 simulations in the seconds before she expired – a word synonymous with ‘exhale.’”_

Shaw guffawed and shook her head. Son of a bitch. The Machine had definitely inherited Root’s wiliness. 

_“And finally,”_ She continued, _“I told Harold that I couldn’t save her, which was also true.”_

“How so?” 

_“I was with Root right until she lost consciousness, trying to comfort her and urge her to keep breathing. But what really kept her fighting was you.”_

Shaw was at a loss for words. Root had saved her with a coded message hidden in static – a promise of the possibility of a future together. It was the same promise that had saved Root too. 

By some miracle, their “someday” had arrived. 

She pondered in silence for a moment before speaking again. “Since she’s alive and can speak for herself,” she began, “why are you still using her voice?” There was no accusation in her tone, only genuine curiosity. 

_“I love her,”_ the Machine said softly, _“but you’ve always been correct in asserting that there was a power imbalance between us.”_

Shaw looked at her hands. It brought back bad memories of a night where she and Root had argued so ferociously over this subject that Root had left the apartment on the verge of tears. Shaw found her the next morning, gaunt, bleary-eyed and slumped in a bar stool. Their make-up sex never quite undid the hurt that had been wreaked. 

_“Don’t dwell on it, Sameen,”_ the Machine soothed. _“I am half of her now. A reflection of her.”_

There was a lump in Shaw’s throat and she didn’t know what to do with it. A whispered “okay” was all she could manage. 

*

It was almost dark by the time she and Bear returned to the cabin. Shaw immediately made a beeline for the hearth, sighing in satisfaction as her fingers began to regain sensation. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the boys hunched over their laptops, more or less where she’d left them. Daizo glanced up and smiled at her, but Daniel and Jason merely nodded, too engrossed with their work. 

She let them be, content to lounge in the warmth of the flames. Eventually, she asked, “What are you guys up to?” 

Jason stopped typing and hesitated. “You know that woman that you mentioned earlier? Control?” 

Shaw narrowed her eyes. “What about her?” 

“The Machine asked us to look for her. She didn’t say why though, only that you would know what to do.” 

“She almost killed Root. And me, and…” She sighed. She’d already argued with Root about this exhaustively. 

“Can’t say she’d be thrilled to see me either,” Daniel said. “She tried to have me killed too.” 

“So what’s your angle here?” Shaw asked, clearly talking to the Machine. “You want us to become BFFs with Control? Have her work the relevant numbers again?” 

_“That’s your choice,”_ the Machine said, Her voice emanating from the speakers. _“For now, all I ask is that you locate her and bring her back to her daughter.”_

Ugh. “You just had to bring a kid into it.” Shaw heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fine. You got any leads?” 

“Not yet,” Daniel replied, “but we’ve only just begun.” 

“Fair. While you’re at it, I want a list of names of key operatives.” They had to be dealt with. Shaw couldn’t risk the chance that they would try to create a new AI in Samaritan’s image. Too many people had died at its behest. 

Shaw silently dared the Machine to contradict her, but She didn’t. Shaw took that as confirmation to proceed with the mission. 

“We’ll get on it,” Jason said. “Now that you’re here though – ” 

“You should head back to New York,” Shaw agreed. “You can get more work done there.” 

“We’ll leave tomorrow morning then.” 

Noticing that Shaw’s gaze was now drawn to Root, Jason gestured to his companions. They gathered their laptops and headed upstairs, leaving Shaw alone with Root for the first time since she’d arrived. 

Shaw dragged the armchair closer to Root’s bed before unbuttoning Root’s loose plaid shirt and slowly removing the bandages on her hip. 

She didn’t stir. 

Shaw glowered as she clinically examined a graze on Root’s hip. It was healing well, but it had presumably occurred during their last gunfight together. She hadn’t even realized that Root had been injured. 

“For _fuck’s_ sake Root, this is why you shouldn’t flirt during lethal shootouts.” 

Her grumbling turned into a sharp hiss when she turned her attention to the wound near Root’s heart. The stitches were neat; Dr. Enright had obviously known what she was doing. She had, however, had to slice a significant portion of Root’s chest open. Root would have an angry, jagged scar to commemorate her near-death. 

What a terrible price to pay for Finch’s goddamn _rules._

At that, molten rage surged through Shaw’s veins; her fists were clenched so tightly that her nails drew blood from her palms. But there was no one to whom she could direct her anger – Finch was gone, Greer had choked, Samaritan was eradicated, and Jeff Jackasswell had kicked the bucket. 

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Slowly, her rage ebbed away, and a strange melancholy took its stead. 

She placed a soft kiss on Root’s forehead. “Mote'asefam,” she murmured. As she applied new bandages, she vowed to keep vigil over Root until she awoke. How long it would take, she had no idea. Root’s body desperately needed time to recover, not just from her recent injuries, but from years of abuse as she’d done the Machine’s bidding. 

Shaw barely left her side. 

*

It happened unexpectedly at an ungodly hour. 

The Machine helped Shaw track the customary 72-hour mark required to change Root’s dressings, and late that night, she set about peeling away the old bandages and replacing them, comforted by the methodic familiarity of the act. 

The bedsheets rustled ever so slightly. Shaw froze, hardly daring to breathe. Her hand, which still lay against the new bandages, was now wrapped in Root’s warm fingers. Root blinked dazedly. Her eyes, honey-coloured in the firelight, met Shaw’s, and they stared and stared at each other in astonishment. 

“S-Sameen?” Root said hoarsely, running her other hand down Shaw’s face. 

Shaw held it to her lips. “Yeah Root. It’s me.” She stood and brought Root a glass of water. “Here,” she said, gently lifting Root’s head. 

Root attempted to bite down seductively on the straw as she drank, never breaking eye contact. _Ridiculous._ It might have worked in other circumstances, but presently, she looked too frail and haggard. 

“Is this…now?” Root asked, glancing around the cabin, “or is this one of my dreams?” 

“I think that’s my line,” Shaw said. She tilted her head as the Machine spoke. “Actually, She says it’s Hers.” 

“She?” Root’s eyes widened. “You mean–”

“The Machine whupped Samaritan’s bitch-ass and rose from the ashes,” Shaw said matter-of-factly. “She wants to talk to you in the morning.” She poked the scar she’d inflicted on Root’s shoulder. “Took _you_ an awfully long time to rise from the dead though. Three weeks!” she chided. “Only took Jesus three days.” 

Shaw smiled faintly as Root’s countenance rapidly morphed from joy to confusion. 

“I killed Jeff Fuckwell. In the meantime, you, little miss Sleeping Beauty, have been lying here, in a literal cabin in the woods. And your fairy godmothers – your hacker trio – were looking after you.” 

“Does that make you my prince in this narrative, Sweetie?” Root chuckled. “I’ve always appreciated fairytale endings.” 

That gave Shaw pause. Fairytale ending? This war, like all wars, had exacted a grave toll. She was broken. Root was in excruciating pain, and…

Root’s grin faded as she noticed the grim expression on Shaw’s face. “John and Harold didn’t make it, did they.” 

“No,” Shaw said quietly. 

Root looked away but failed to mask her sorrow. 

Shaw brushed away the single tear that trickled down Root’s cheek. “Still got each other though, right?” she murmured. “Thanks for keeping your promise.” 

Root bestowed a watery smile upon her. “Well, I couldn’t leave my best gal.” 

Something stirred deep in Shaw as she gazed at her. Memories (or nightmares) flashed through her mind. Rain. Flashing police lights. Spinning on the roundabout. Touching cable wires, the vestiges of Root…

“Don’t…don’t ever make me say goodbye to you again,” Shaw said as she caressed a tendril of Root’s hair. 

Root stilled her hand and tugged her. Understanding, Shaw crawled into bed and curled against her, one arm draped over Root’s belly. She burrowed her face against Root’s shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut. Root cradled her head, stroking her hair soothingly. Neither of them spoke for a long time. 

“I thought…”

“I know. Shh, I know. I’m so sorry, baby.” 

“I thought I was too late,” Shaw confessed. “Too late to realize what you meant to me.” 

“Shh, don’t.” Root’s voice broke. “I always knew. And I’m here now. You know what they say – even death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.” 

Shaw huffed. “You are such a nerd,” she murmured against Root’s lips. Then she kissed her long and deep, reveling in the scent of her – vanilla, coconut and freshly lit matches, with a hint of gunpowder – and sighing as Root caressed her ear. When she pulled away at last, she nuzzled Root’s cheek, a gesture of affection that she had learned from Bear. 

“Mmm, you’re so warm.” Root snuggled impossibly closer to Shaw, despite the heat radiating from the fire. “Making me sl- sleepy,” she said with a yawn. 

Shaw lightly kissed Root’s drooping eyelids. “Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“I’m glad you’re here with me, Sam,” Root breathed. “Here at the end of all things.”


	2. you explained the infinite

Shaw splayed her arm across the small bed and opened her eyes groggily when her hand met skin. She was surprised to see that she was still cocooned in Root’s warmth: she’d spent too many mornings in shitty motels reaching for her only to find cold, empty sheets and be forcibly reminded that she was gone. She felt cozy in Root’s arms, and with a jolt, she realized that this was what it meant to be home. 

There was a safe place that still remained. 

She watched with amusement as Root shifted, trying but failing to escape from Bear nosing curiously at her. “Sameen,” she whined petulantly as Bear persisted. She patted blindly, suddenly opening her eyes when Bear playfully butted his head against her hand. _“Bear,”_ she said, her voice now welcoming. She scratched his ears, crooning, and awkwardly tried to hug him. “Well good morning, buddy. It’s so nice to see you.” 

“Morning to you too,” Shaw said. She wasn’t sure who she envied more: Bear for receiving all of Root’s attention, or Root for receiving all of Bear’s attention. 

Beaming, Root let go of Bear, who occupied himself with his chew toy, and pulled Shaw into a kiss. She gently rubbed Shaw’s ear, a known weak spot, just as she had done with the dog. “Jealous, baby?” she said huskily. 

Shaw bottled that particular voice clip for later and more insistently pressed her mouth against Root’s. In response, she wrapped her arms around Shaw’s neck, moaning appreciatively. 

They languidly lay together for a while longer, vacillating between sleep and wakefulness. Shaw was just considering getting up to make breakfast when Root spoke. 

“I want to talk to Her.” She brimmed with nervous excitement. 

“That can be arranged,” Shaw said as she reached for her phone on the table. Catching the disappointment on Root’s face, she added, “First order of business when we’re back in New York is getting you a new implant. Then we’ll catch up with Lionel. Cool?” 

Root nodded and accepted the phone, her hands quivering infinitesimally. 

Shaw made to leave, not wanting to intrude on her communion with her god, but Root seized her wrist. She sat back down, sliding her hand into Root’s. 

_“Can you hear me?”_

Shaw would never forget the way Root glowed when she heard her own voice, as if pure happiness had been injected into her veins. 

“Absolutely,” Root breathed reverently. 

*

Root fell sometimes too. 

Despite having been designated as the new admin, she currently did not have the distraction of work, and her mind therefore tended to wander into the depths of despair. The Machine’s belated revelation that Finch was living peacefully with Grace in Italy had been a bittersweet pill to swallow. Root subsequently took to whiling away hours sitting solemnly by the window. 

This was unfamiliar territory, and the Machine wasn’t very forthcoming when Shaw asked Her how to proceed. _“Give her time.”_

Shaw obeyed, but couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to do something. One afternoon, she abruptly ceased polishing her trusty SIG-Sauer P226 and cautiously approached Root, standing protectively over her but not crowding her either. 

“They’re migrating,” Root said softly, gazing at the birds – stragglers who had for some reason stayed here in the north longer than their comrades. “Heading somewhere safe and warm.” 

Shaw took another wary step forward. “They’ll come back though. Always do.” 

A beat of silence. “I…I don’t think all of them will.” 

Shaw sighed, privately agreeing. Harold would not return to the burdens of this life when a blissful happy ending had been handed to him on a silver platter. She’d endured torture to protect her team, but Finch, the cause of the AI apocalypse, had abandoned them without so much as a phone call. It infuriated her beyond belief. 

She doubted it would be helpful to voice her thoughts, however. Root’s relationship with him was complicated and occasionally cruel, but she had loved him like a father. 

“Hey Eeyore,” she murmured instead as she tentatively put a hand on Root’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

It was the right move. Root leaned into the touch, wrapped her arms around Shaw’s waist and burrowed against her chest, surrendering to her childlike need for comfort – a need that Shaw wasn’t sure she would always be able to meet. 

*

A memory:

_“Root?”_

_“Hm?”_

_Shaw struggled internally, unsure of what she even meant to say. “Do you still know who you are?”_

_The wording sounded bad, even to her._

_Root looked at her, perplexed. “What…do you mean?”_

_“Just…” Shaw trailed off. “You have to assume hundreds of identities. Do you ever feel like your own is getting buried beneath them?”_

_“I know who I am,” Root said. “I know my purpose. To serve Her.”_

_They were teetering dangerously close to the thorny subject of Root’s martyr complex, and Shaw had no desire to reopen that can of worms. “Do you feel like your body belongs to you?” she quietly asked._

_Silence._

_“She had to reset every night too, you know?” Root said. Her eyes were pleading. “Delete Herself and then reboot. Die and resurrect; rinse and repeat.” She fumbled with the bandages on her arm. “I guess…my skin-shedding makes me feel closer to Her in a way.”_

_“You’re exhausted, Root.” It was true. The purple shadows beneath her eyes contrasted starkly with the paleness of her face; her body was riddled with scars. She probably hadn’t slept since her showdown with Samaritan’s blonde bitch. “Your body can’t keep up with this constant flux.”_

_Root looked away, and Shaw wondered whether Root hated being human sometimes, hated the intrinsic flaws woven in DNA’s double helix, and would rather substitute her DNA for bundles of wires, her chemical code for computer code._

_Shaw brought their lips together then, uncertain of what she was hoping to achieve – perhaps reminding Root of the pleasures associated with humanness as well. “You can just be Root tonight,” she said between kisses. “Just Root.”_

_Root stared at her, her doe eyes half-lidded. “Thank you Sameen,” she whispered._

*

At least computer code wouldn’t feel physical pain though. 

Eyebrows furrowed, mouth slashed determinedly, Root took a tottering step and stumbled into Shaw’s arms. 

“You can let go Sweetie,” she panted. “Let me try again.” 

Another step. Another stumble. 

Root had little control over her body, and it was eating away at her. 

Yet another step. Yet another stumble. 

“Root– ” Noticing the tears welling up in Root’s eyes, Shaw fell silent at once and seated her on the sofa, crouching in front of her. It was rather reminiscent of their first encounter, albeit with very different circumstances, and Shaw was struck, not for the first time, by how far they had come. 

“I’m…I’m so sorry.” Root choked back a sob. 

“You got nothing to apologize for,” Shaw said firmly. “You can’t expect yourself to recover in a day, Root. It’s impossible.” 

“But I’m not…useful to anyone like this.” 

_“Your worth isn’t measured by your ‘usefulness,’”_ the Machine said. 

Root let out a wry huff of laughter. “Isn’t it though? Didn’t you both choose me because I’m – and I quote – ‘hot and good with a gun’?” 

Shaw stared steadily at her. “You know that’s not all there is to it.” 

Root opened her mouth, then closed it again, swallowing hard. Despite purporting that she’d always known her importance to Shaw, she still seemed stunned every time Shaw mentioned it. “You’re a great doctor, Sameen,” she said in a small voice, and Shaw could suddenly no longer meet her gaze. 

“One last try,” she said instead, helping Root up. “Then we’ll call it a night.” Her arms enveloped Root’s waist, and Root’s in turn were draped over Shaw’s shoulders. “Don’t let go.” 

Understanding her intentions, the Machine filled the room with something soft and piano-y. 

Root blinked back the tears that were brimming in her eyes again and pressed her forehead against Shaw’s. 

They shuffled awkwardly at first. They had always been in sync, both in missions and in bed, but now, the rhythm of their symphony had changed, and Shaw in turn adapted her steps to match Root’s, fluidly swaying against her. 

“See? Baby steps.” Shaw’s hand wandered down to Root’s ass, and squeezing it, she whispered in Root’s good ear, “You got a great shape too.” 

Root snorted softly and peppered kissed on Shaw’s cheek. 

They danced for what must have been only a few minutes, but it felt to Shaw like several tranquil evenings. Root eventually slumped, unable to stand any longer. “Sameen…” 

“I got you,” Shaw reassured. “Come on Bambi.” Root yelped in surprise as Shaw picked her up, bridal-style. “There’s something I wanna show you.” 

Root brightened. “Is that so?” she said seductively, undressing Shaw with her eyes. 

Shaw smirked and carried her up the stairs, shutting the bedroom door behind them with her foot. 

*

“Wow.” 

Shaw wasn’t quite sure if Root was referring to the dazzling sky, visible through the skylight, or to the intense slow sex they’d just had. 

“Guess the Geminids aren’t the only thing that climaxed tonight,” Root sighed contentedly. 

(Both. She was talking about both.)

Shaw felt the vibrations of her throat as she leisurely kissed her way up, under Root’s chin and along her jaw. “Shut up,” she mumbled, planting one last, long kiss on Root’s lips to make her do just that. The bed shifted when she finally rolled off and flopped onto the pillows, cool against her heated skin.

Root pulled the blankets up. She was never the modest type, but Shaw knew she was self-conscious about the scar on her chest, despite the kisses that Shaw had lavished upon it. _Give her time,_ she remembered.

“I used to look up at the stars a lot as a kid,” Root murmured. “Maybe even saw the same ones as you. We didn’t live too far from each other, growing up.” 

“My dad used to tell me about them. Both in Qatar and in Texas,” Shaw said. “My mom had to travel a bit to get to the city for work – she was a college prof – but my dad never wanted to move. Always complained about the light pollution.” They would stop on the side of abandoned roads sometimes as well, as they travelled across the country to watch football games. Her father would prop her up on his shoulders, showing her the heavens. She’d never told anyone but Cole about any of this before. 

“Sounds nice.” Root seemed wistful. 

Shaw propped her head on one arm and stared at Root until she got the hint and explained. 

“The last time I stargazed was just after my friend Hannah was killed. I just…lay outside for a long time, staring at the sky, wondering how this could’ve been allowed to happen. Figured then that we lived in a cold, godless universe.” 

“That’s…” Shaw frowned and searched for the words, making an effort not to sound too callous. 

“That’s Absurdism,” Root finished. 

“Huh?” 

“Camus’ suggestion that the universe is chaotic and purposeless, and that our search for meaning will end in failure.” 

“So it wouldn’t matter if we’re good or bad because we’re all fucked anyway?” 

Root’s lips quirked upward into a faint smile. “A succinct explanation,” she said. “Camus also argued that the only true way to resolve that conflict was by embracing the Absurd - defiantly continuing to search for meaning in a meaningless universe.” A pause. “It…took me a long time to do that…and it wasn’t easy. Kind of nice to be looking at the sky now with a different perspective.” 

Shaw pulled her into an honest-to-goodness cuddle. 

“What’re you doing?” Root said coyly. 

“Embracing the absurd.” 

Root laughed the most genuinely that Shaw had seen since before the Stock Exchange. “There’s another way to resolve the conflict with the Absurd,” she said once her mirth subsided. “The belief in a transcendent realm. An afterlife of sorts. Camus dismissed the notion, but I know now that one exists. As long as the Machine lives, we will never die.” She draped her arm over Shaw’s back and tenderly stroked the constellation of scars etched across it. 

_A tiny finger tracing a line in the infinite…_

“What did you mean when you said I’m an arrow?” Shaw blurted. 

Shock flickered in Root’s eyes, quickly giving way to understanding. “She gave you my message.” 

“Told you I wanted to hear it from you.” 

Root carded her fingers through Shaw’s hair. “I should have said it myself,” she admitted. “But you’ve probably already figured it out now.” 

“Still want to hear it from you,” Shaw said, furtively sidling closer. 

“Well,” Root purred as she batted her eyes, “you’re obviously the arrow that pierced my heart.” 

Shaw snorted exasperatedly. “Should’ve known I wouldn’t get a straight answer from you.” 

“Probably, since you’re aware that I’m not even remotely straight.” She giggled at her joke, snuffling into Shaw’s hair. 

Shaw groaned and half-heartedly attempted to extricate herself from Root’s embrace but was tugged back. 

“You know that’s not all there is to it,” Root echoed. There was a small smile on her face as she returned her attention to the sky and hummed thoughtfully. “An arrow, you know? You’re constant – both emotionally and operatively. Logical. Rational. Beautiful by design.” 

_Like Her_ was the unspoken thought. It was strangely fascinating that Root, whose emotions resounded, saw the beauty of near-perfect function and thus staunchly defended her and the Machine’s muted emotions. 

“An arrow can be a vector–” 

“– A quantity with magnitude and direction,” Shaw recited automatically, and Root’s face lit up. 

“I love it when you talk nerdy to me,” she purred. 

Shaw rolled her eyes perfunctorily. Root loved it when she did _anything._

“You’re a vector,” Root continued, unfazed. “You have direction, and you forge your path in the universe. Unfalteringly.” She held her index finger up and drew an invisible line against the sky. “It means that unlike many people, you’ve already accepted the Absurd. You’ve never been bothered by it; you’ve given your life intrinsic meaning anyway. A purpose. And sometimes…” Her voice softened. “You brush along other shapes in the chaos along the way, giving them meaning too.” 

Root cupped Shaw’s face and gazed at her fondly. “You’re also my true north arrow,” she whispered. “The compass that guided me home.” 

“You brought me home too,” Shaw confessed, and Root closed the distance between them to place a chaste kiss on Shaw’s lips. 

A comfortable silence ensued, and as Shaw felt the rise and fall of Root’s chest, she wondered what shape _she_ would take. Root defied simple categorization. She was, to Shaw, an anchor. She could be a rectangle, a firm, protective presence – a shield, like Reese. And as the Machine’s interface and reflection, she was a circle – omniscient and all-encompassing, seemingly harbouring knowledge of the world’s infinite possibilities. Perhaps Root wasn’t a shape at all, but rather _energy,_ becoming whatever she needed to be at a given moment. 

Shaw decided to pose the question to Root, who smiled. “I’d be a forward slash. The root directory of a Unix or Linux system.” 

The answer seemed obvious now that Root mentioned it, but Shaw couldn’t help but feel a twinge of relief. _I know who I am,_ Root had declared. She had chosen her identity years and years ago, and her roles as an anchor, a protector and an interface had become facets of it. She contained multitudes. 

As though reading Shaw’s mind, Root admitted, “Sometimes, I do feel like I forget who I am. All these identities…I get lost in them. But you help me remember.” 

“Would these lines of ours have intersected in every other simulation?” Shaw asked. 

Root was quiet for a moment. “No, Sweetie,” she said gently. 

“Oh.” Though Shaw concealed it, she was slightly taken aback. Root’s presence had been a constant in Samaritan’s simulations, and she couldn’t imagine one in which they hadn’t met. “Thought you’d be the type to believe in soulmates and whatnot.” 

“I appreciate the idea, but...” Root sighed. “In a world where She didn’t exist, I doubt we would’ve met. Or if we had, we might’ve just killed each other. She changed me, helped me learn to care. And She brought us together.” 

“The Machine played matchmaker?” 

Root chuckled. “Yes. And even then, the odds were always against us. If anything, we may have been meant to be star-crossed lovers. And yet...we managed to be together anyway. Found a little light in the darkness. Maybe…that makes this more rare and special.” She brushed her thumb against Shaw’s cheek. “But like I mentioned before,” she murmured, “there may be other realms waiting for us once we depart this one – transcendent realms that She’d simulate. And maybe then our stars would be aligned, and She’ll help us meet again.” 

“You’re saying maybe someday?” 

Root flashed an adoring grin at her. “Yes Sameen. Maybe someday.” 

She silently prayed that Root was right; she had become part of the very fabric of Shaw’s mind. She thought that if she didn’t touch her, it would be a mistake in each place and forever. 

She climbed on top of Root again, straddling her hips and hissing in unison with her at their aligned contact. And as she gazed down at Root, who was quite literally starry-eyed, with the spangled sky reflected in them, she hoped the heavens would bear witness to their caresses, would pair them together over and over in every dimension. 

She hoped the heavens would bear witness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line "She thought that if she didn't touch her, it would be a mistake in each place and forever" is a reference to "Other Lives and Dimensions and Finally a Love Poem" by Bob Hicok.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Shoot Week, everyone. 
> 
> The fic and chapter titles come from "Saturn" by Sleeping At Last. The second chapter will be up on May 31st to bookend Shoot Week. 
> 
> "Richard Legg" is actually [Richard Arm](http://www.bbc.com/news/uk-england-nottinghamshire-37497182). 
> 
> Yes, I had Root quote both The Princess Bride and Lord of the Rings. 
> 
> The last scene in this chapter is very similar, but not identical to, a scene that I wrote in [as long as I'm living (my baby you'll be)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9857081). My fics all fall into the same little post-finale universe.


End file.
